


Teach Me Your Secrets, I'll Give You All of Mine

by jackles67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest, Underage Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 09:21:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackles67/pseuds/jackles67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam asks Dean to teach him about sex. Dean agrees, but sets some limits. Sam tries to push those limits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teach Me Your Secrets, I'll Give You All of Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Sam is 14/15 and Dean is 18.
> 
> This was originally written for [this](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/64480.html?thread=20205536#t20205536) prompt over on the spn kink meme (the prompt contains major spoilers for this fic).

Dean’s “reading” a magazine when Sam finally works up his courage and knocks on the doorframe. The actual door is gone, as are various other parts of this broken down house, but it’s cheap and they get their own beds, so no one’s complaining. It’s March, drizzling, and they’re here on a hunt, one of those long weird ones that mean Sam and Dean have time to enroll in school again. Sam knocks again when Dean doesn’t respond, harder this time, and Dean just says, “What?” without looking up. Sam rolls his eyes and wanders over to sit on the edge of Dean’s bed. He stares at Dean until Dean finally sighs and closes the magazine, throwing it on the floor and meeting Sam’s eyes.  
  
“I need a favor,” Sam starts, and stops at the glint in Dean’s eye. Dean’ll take any advantage he can get in their ridiculous sibling rivalry, but this isn’t like that time Sam asked Dean to teach him how to talk to girls and Dean made Sam make dinner, do laundry, and take out the trash for a month as payment. This is serious, this is Sam trusting Dean, and he wants Dean to get it.  
  
“I wanna learn about sex,” Sam says, face flushing hot, and he fights not to look away from Dean. Dean blinks, tilts his head a little, then grins.  
  
“I got you porn already, Sam. That not good enough for you?”  
  
Sam shakes his head and opens his mouth, then closes it. He takes a deep breath and tries again.  
  
“Sex with guys. Please, Dean.” Sam watches Dean’s eyes narrow, his face color slightly. Sam’s not supposed to know that Dean sometimes hooks up with guys, no one’s supposed to know, but Sam and Dean watch each other like hawks and the guys haven’t escaped Sam’s notice.  
  
“You wanna... you want some gay porn?” Dean asks, and Sam feels a stab of annoyance at his intentional misunderstanding.  
  
“I want you to teach me how to do stuff. How it works,” Sam says, getting redder and redder by the second.  
  
Dean still looks a little confused, like he’s pretty sure he knows what Sam’s asking but doesn’t quite believe it. Sam finally takes a deep breath and leans in, pressing his lips softly to Dean’s. Sam’s trembling slightly, and he misses, only getting the corner of Dean’s lips. Dean fits a hand to Sam’s head and turns it slightly, slotting their lips together and kissing Sam back, running his tongue over Sam’s lower lip once before pulling away.  
  
“Okay,” Dean says, and Sam’s gratified to see that he’s breathing a little harder.  
  
The front door slams, and Sam falls off Dean’s bed in a heap of gangly limbs and too-big clothes. He scrambles to his feet, backing out of the room, nodding to Dean’s whispered, “Later”.  
  
Later turns out to be a week later. Dad’s gone out for at least a day and a night, and Dean’s not home either, so Sam’s taking advantage of the precious time alone to jerk off. He’s barely started, just gotten his cock out and wrapped a hand around it, trying not to pretend Dean’s in the other room because really what’s the point of time alone if you’re just gonna do that, when he hears the front door open and close. He fumbles to put himself away and barely manages it before Dean’s in the doorway, holding a bag of food and raising his eyebrows, eyes on the obvious bulge in Sam’s sweatpants.  
  
“C’mon, I got burgers,” Dean says, turning to the kitchen. Sam gives himself a moment before following.  
  
Dean watches Sam even more closely than usual as they unwrap their burgers. He drags a fry through Sam’s little ketchup puddle and sucks it into his mouth, and Sam swallows hard.  
  
“So I thought about that thing we talked about,” Dean starts. Sam pretends not to know what he’s talking about, just because Dean’s being a smug bastard.  
  
“The gay sex 101 thing.”  
  
Sam grins, can’t help it, then nods, trying to look serious.  
  
“I think we need some ground rules, Sam. You’re not exactly legal. I’d ask you to wait a year or two, but--”  
  
“I’ll find someone else if you don’t want to--” Sam starts, even though it’s a blatant lie and he’s pretty sure they both know it.  
  
“But,” Dean continues, as if Sam hadn’t said a word, “I know you’re a stubborn little bitch so I might as well save us both some time and say yes now.”  
  
Sam breathes a sigh of relief and Dean rolls his eyes before continuing.  
  
“So. Ground rules. We’re not taking this too far.”  
  
“What’s too far?” Sam asks, and isn’t at all surprised at Dean’s answer.  
  
“Too far is whatever I say it is. I say stop, we stop. Same for you, obviously. Anytime you don’t want to anymore, or something’s weird, or you don’t like it, you say stop, and we stop. Deal?” Dean asks, dead serious for once, eyes fixed on Sam’s, not letting him look away.  
  
“Deal.” Sam’s pretty sure that’s not going to happen, at least for him. He’s been waiting for this for longer than he thinks is normal, not that any of this is normal, not that anything in their lives is normal. Sam wants this, wants Dean in any and every possible way, and now he’s finally done something about it, he’s not stopping till he gets what he wants. Maybe Dean has a point when he calls Sam a brat.  
  
They finish eating, somewhat faster than usual, and leave the wrappers and bag on the table. Dean leads the way to Sam’s room and sits down on the bed. Sam hovers awkwardly in front of him, unsure what he’s supposed to do. Dean wraps a hand around Sam’s wrist and tugs him down to sit beside him.  
  
“Okay. Lesson one. Kissing,” Dean says quietly, leaning close so the words are spoken almost directly into Sam’s mouth. Dean lets Sam close the distance, and Sam does so eagerly, clashing their mouths together a little too hard, drawing a chuckle from Dean. Dean lays a hand on Sam’s jaw, tilts his head just right, and strokes a thumb along his cheek, soothing. Dean’s mouth opens on Sam’s lips, and Dean’s tongue is sliding along Sam’s lips, pressing slightly. Sam’s mouth opens to Dean, and Dean’s tongue slips in, pressing against Sam’s. Sam tries to do the same, to slide his tongue into Dean’s mouth, and feels Dean’s hand tighten on him. When Dean starts to draw away, Sam follows, and Dean laughs before maneuvering them down to lie on the bed. Sam immediately presses their lips back together.  
  
Dean slides his hand down Sam’s neck, along his chest, grazing one nipple through his shirt. Sam shudders and Dean does it again, pulling away to watch Sam’s face. Sam’s hand drops down to grind his palm against his own painfully hard cock, and Dean grins before leaning in to kiss him again, hand slipping down to the hem of Sam’s tee shirt before coming back up under it. Dean brushes his fingers in light circles around Sam’s nipple, then skims a finger over it, and again, and again, before tugging gently on the hardening flesh. Sam shudders and writhes every time, trying to keep kissing Dean but caught between the pleasure from Dean’s hand on him and the friction he’s getting through his pants that’s barely enough and somehow perfect.  
  
Dean’s hand slides down, and around, and over Sam’s hand, pressing down on it once, drawing a moan from Sam, before sliding back to Sam’s ass. Sam’s suddenly aware that he’s been moving, been thrusting against his hand, practically humping it, and what’s more, he can’t seem to make himself stop. It just feels so good, Dean’s mouth and his hand gripping him and he’s so close and then he’s coming in his pants, pleasure flooding through him, mouth open and panting into Dean’s, body pressed tight against Dean.  
  
Dean keeps kissing him as he comes down, then he rolls away and gets up, heading to the bathroom.  
  
“Wait,” Sam says, “isn’t it supposed to be... Don’t you want me to..?”  
  
“Nah, it’s cool. I got it,” Dean replies, shooting Sam a wink before disappearing into the bathroom.  
  
Sam lies there, come cooling in his pants, and tries not to think about Dean’s cock, hard and so big, pushing against him just minutes ago. Tries not to think about Dean getting off in the bathroom right now, one hand wrapped around himself, the other bracing himself on the wall. Sam groans and rolls over, then groans again as the sticky wet mess squishes around.  
  
***  
  
That night, Sam lies in bed trying to get up the courage to ask Dean for another “lesson”. He’s hard again, and he wants to kiss Dean as he comes. He wants to be pressed against Dean again, and he wants to rub himself against him, and he wants Dean to get off too.  
  
Sam slips his hand into his boxers and wraps it around his cock. He’s been hard for a while, gently stroking himself through his boxers, and it feels good to just give in. He slips his boxers down so the waistband is resting just under his balls, and brings his hand up to his mouth to lick his palm. He strokes himself once, base to tip, and gathers the precome that beads there. His hand is slick now, and the sweet drag along his cock makes him whimper. He tries to muffle it for a moment, before remembering that it’s just him and Dean in the house now.  
  
After that, Sam puts on something of a show. He fucks his hand slow at first, letting out a moan every few strokes. He picks up the pace and pictures Dean lying in bed listening to him, wonders if Dean is hard, if he’s also touching himself. The thought has him coming all over his belly, hips lifting, toes digging into the mattress.  
  
As he’s coming down, Sam swears he can hear rhythmic rustling and panting through the wall, and he strains to hear Dean. All he gets is creaking bedsprings as Dean rolls over, then silence.  
  
***  
  
It’s another week before Sam finally provokes Dean into giving him another lesson. Dad’s gone again, and Sam’s gotten desperate. He’s jerked off every night, as loud as he dares with Dad sleeping just down the hall, and he’s sure Dean’s heard him. Now that they’re alone, Sam figures he can be more direct.  
  
When they get home from school, Sam announces he’s taking a shower. He doesn’t get dressed after, instead wandering casually over to the couch wearing just a towel. It’s not actually that warm in the house, but  Sam doesn’t really care if he’s being obvious. He sits next to Dean, right next to him, even though there’s a whole two unoccupied cushions on the other side. Dean takes one look at him and narrows his eyes.  
  
“This isn’t a nudist colony Sam. Get dressed,” Dean says, his eyes roaming Sam’s chest, down his stomach, along his legs.  
  
Sam turns to face Dean.  
  
“I thought now would be a good time for another lesson.”  
  
Dean blinks, then nods.  
  
“Take that off,” Dean says, indicating the towel. Sam does, untying it and letting it fall onto the couch. He leans in to kiss Dean, and Dean lets him, heavy hands falling onto Sam’s shoulders and holding him steady. Sam fumbles at Dean’s shirt, trying to pull it off, but Dean grabs Sam’s wrists and push them away.  
  
“No,” Dean says firmly, before pushing Sam to lie back along the couch, head resting against the armrest. Dean crawls up between Sam’s legs and kisses him again, rougher this time, deeper. Dean bites Sam’s lip and Sam lets out a little moan. He’s about to be embarrassed when Dean does it again, harder, and this time Sam can’t help but arch up into Dean’s body. Sam’s hard, leaking, and his cock is rubbing against Dean’s jeans, the rough fabric too much for Sam’s oversensitized skin. He shudders, and Dean grins, slipping down to suck at the spot below Sam’s ear. Sam arches again, wrapping one leg around Dean’s hips. He can feel how hard Dean’s cock is through the denim, and he grinds against it, relishing the shudder that goes through Dean.  
  
Dean’s hand comes down on Sam’s hip, holding him down, as he pulls away slightly.  
  
“No.”  
  
Sam’s about to argue, but Dean’s hand slips from Sam’s hip to his cock, and suddenly Sam’s not really capable of speech anymore.  
  
He never really thought about how much better someone else’s hand might feel on him. This hand though. This hand is Dean’s, and it’s huge, and rough, and perfect. Dean jerks him slow, watching his face, occasionally leaning in to kiss him. Sam feels exposed, helpless, spread out under Dean like this, completely naked while Dean’s fully clothed. He can’t seem to do anything but wrap his hands around Dean’s arms, hold on as he thrusts up to meet Dean’s strokes, pleasure building in him until he’s gasping and moaning, and Dean tightens his grip, jerks him faster, and Sam comes, shaking, arching into Dean.  
  
Dean works him through it and uses the towel to clean him off before letting Sam crawl half into his lap. Sam lays his head on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean doesn’t make fun of him for being cuddly, just rubs his back and encircles him with his arms.  
  
***  
  
The following weeks are torture for Sam. He can’t look at Dean without thinking about big hands and soft, plush lips and sharp teeth and how strong Dean is, how he could hold Sam down and take what he wants. Sam thinks he might be going crazy, and he thinks that would be okay if he could just act on it. Unfortunately, Dad’s back, and this time it looks like it’ll be a while before he leaves them alone again. Sam jerks off in the shower, and in his bed at night, and in his bed in the morning. He wonders if Dean knows, hopes he does.  
  
They move to a new town, a new school, and for once Sam’s glad, because a new hunt means it’s more likely Dad’ll leave. Unfortunately, a week into this new hunt, Dad still hasn’t announced he’s going anywhere. Sam lies in bed one night, debating sneaking into Dean’s room. In this new house, they both have rooms on one side of the house, and Dad’s room is on the other side. There’s no way Dad’ll hear, except that he’s a hunter, sleeps with one eye open, and Sam’s brain can’t really wrap itself around the idea of Dad finding out.  
  
Sam hears a door open, from Dean’s side of the house, and holds his breath, listening. Quiet feet make their way to the bathroom, and hears the light click on, the door shut softly. Sam slips out of bed, slowly, slowly opening his door, and pads down the hall to the bathroom door. He waits until he hears the toilet flush, then opens the door, heart thudding. Dean’s washing his hands, and turns, looking surprised. Sam blushes, and Dean grins.  
  
“Time for another lesson?” he says knowingly, and Sam just nods. Dean reaches out and yanks Sam close, one hand on his waist, the other brushing his hair out of his eyes. Sam pushes up on his toes to kiss Dean, and Dean wraps his arms around Sam, hands sliding down his back to cup his ass. Sam moans a little, and Dean deepens the kiss, tongue tangling with Sam’s. Sam’s waited too long for this, can’t stop himself from rutting against Dean’s thigh when it presses between his legs. Dean lets him, just holds him and kisses him and guides him with his hands on Sam’s ass. Sam gets off like that, quick and dirty and completely shameless, coming in his pants with his mouth latched on Dean’s.  
  
Before Dean can leave, Sam grabs his arm.  
  
“Wait. Can I... can I get you off?” he asks, trying to sound like he knows what he’s doing.  
  
“No Sammy. C’mon, remember, rules. We’ll do something special soon though. I was thinking for your birthday.” Dean departs with a wink, and Sam cleans himself up, already counting the days.  
  
***  
  
Sam’s birthday is two weeks later, two weeks of exquisite torture, of imagining all the possibilities any time he happens to catch Dean’s eye. On the day of, Dad’s gone, and Sam wonders if that’s good luck or if Dean had something to do with it. Sam gets whatever he wants for breakfast, and, like every other year, he wants chocolate chip waffles. Somehow, Dean found a waffle iron, and there’s whipped cream and the good orange juice and Sam is officially 15 years old, which Dean says is old enough to get a fake I.D., although not today. Today, Dean lets Sam drive the Impala to the lake. They fish and shoot stuff and generally fuck around until the sun starts getting low, then Sam gets to drive back . They get chinese takeout and pizza on the way home, and when they fight over the remote, Dean lets Sam win.  
  
In some ways, it’s exactly like any other good birthday Sam’s had. Sam feels this tension though, like butterflies in his gut, barely there that morning, but getting stronger and stronger. By the time they’re done eating, he’s practically squirming with it. Dean seems to notice, and he grins.  
  
“You want your present, Sammy?” Dean asks, amusement clear in his voice. Sam just nods.  
  
Dean leans in and kisses Sam, soft at first, then harder until Sam’s whimpering into his mouth, needing more. Dean shifts to bite a trail down his neck, and Sam arches into it, cock thickening in his pants. Dean slides a hand up one of Sam’s thighs and rubs over the growing bulge, and Sam stifles a moan, pressing up into Dean’s palm. Dean unbuckles Sam’s belt and unzips his pants.  
  
“Up,” Dean whispers, and it takes Sam a moment to understand. He lifts his hips, and Dean pulls his pants down with his boxers, yanking Sam’s socks off on the way down, laughing when Sam squirms. He reaches up to pull Sam’s shirt off as well, and throws the pile of clothes over the back of the couch. Sam’s just thinking that it’s not really fair that he’s always the naked one while Dean keeps his clothes on when Dean drops to his knees in front of the couch and Sam stops thinking at all.  
  
Dean’s holding Sam’s cock in his hand, thumb brushing along the underside where the shaft meets the crown. His wet, plush lips are inches away from the head, and Sam’s fighting to hold back from pushing up, from rubbing his cock all over those lips. Dean gives him one last predatory grin before lowering his head to lick a stripe from Sam’s balls to the bead of precome gathering at the tip. Sam shudders at the sensation of Deans wet, firm tongue pressing into the slit. Dean licks around the head, then wraps his lips around it and sucks.  
  
Sam can’t hold back then, and he fucks up into Dean’s mouth hard before Dean’s hands slam his hips back down. Dean pulls off to whisper hoarsely, “Not this time, Sammy,” before sliding back down onto Sam. Sam holds onto his self control by a thread as Dean’s head bobs up and down, his eyes never leaving Sam’s, his lips wet and shiny, getting puffier and redder with every stroke. Dean runs his tongue along the underside again, this time working his tongue against the bundle of nerves under the crown. Sam whimpers and throws his head back, digs his fingers into the couch cushions, fighting to hold on. When he looks back down, Dean’s still watching him, the head of Sam’s cock resting just inside Dean’s mouth. With Sam’s eyes back on him, Dean resumes his rhythm, picking up speed and hollowing his cheeks. He shifts slightly, and on the next stroke down, Sam’s cock pushes into the tightness of Dean’s throat. Sam’s legs start to shake with the effort of holding still, and then Dean swallows around him, and Sam feels pleasure bursting in him. He manages to spit out, “I’m gonna... Dean, I’m gonna,” before he’s coming down Dean’s throat. Dean sucks him through it, licking him clean until he’s softening.  
  
This time, Sam can’t help but reach his hand toward the bulge in Dean’s pants as he’s standing up. Dean grabs his wrist, stopping him, and Sam whines.  
  
“No,” Dean says, and it takes Sam a moment to pull himself together enough to remember how to speak.  
  
“C’mon man. You gave me this, least I can do is pay you back, right?” Sam tries to make it sound reasonable, and really, he thinks, it is.  
  
“No Sammy. You wanted to learn stuff, I’m gonna teach you stuff. You’re fifteen, man. I’m not gonna be some guy making his little brother get him off ‘cause he doesn’t know any better.”  
  
“You’re not making me--”  
  
“Look, we’ll talk about it when you’re legal. Okay?” Dean asks, and when Sam doesn’t answer right away, he adds, “Hey, if you’re not into this anymore...”  
  
“No! I am,” Sam says, deciding to drop it for now. He’s pretty sure he can find a way to change Dean’s mind. In the meantime, Sam glances down at Dean’s obvious erection, and clears his throat pointedly. “You gonna take care of that?”  
  
Dean grins and heads for the bathroom with a wink. Sam lays back on the couch, grabbing a blanket to cover up, feeling cold and a little lonely. The blowjob was.... well, Sam’s pretty sure it was the best thing he’s ever experienced and that now he knows it’s out there he’s going to want at least one every day for the rest of forever. Sam imagines what it’d be like to have a cock in his mouth, stretching his lips and shoving into his throat, and his cock twitches. He pictures himself on his knees, a big hand with a silver ring buried in his hair, tugging him forward as he gags a little before opening his throat. He imagines looking up at Dean’s heated green stare, his lips parted in pleasure, blush staining his cheeks. Sam squirms a little, and tries to get his growing erection to wilt before Dean gets back.  
  
When Dean gets back, Sam‘s cock is still stubbornly hard and he’s pretty sure Dean knows, but he doesn’t say anything. He does get under the blanket and let Sam rest his head on his shoulder, snuggled up under one of Dean’s arms. Sam falls asleep like that and wakes up in his bed, his boxers put back on him, the memory of Dean’s lips wrapped around him still fresh in his mind.  
  
It was a good birthday.  
  
***  
  
They stay in this house until school lets out in June. Sam gets another handjob from Dean, in the bathroom, both of them facing the mirror, Dean pressed against Sam’s back, hand wrapped around his cock and jerking him into the sink. Dean watches Sam’s face in the mirror the whole time, and when he leans in to bite Sam that spot where shoulder meets neck, Sam comes so hard he almost whites out.  
  
Dean sucks him off again too, once in the woods, on his knees in front of Sam while Sam leans back against a tree, getting splinters from scrabbling for purchase against the trunk. Dean pulls away this time, to jerk Sam until he comes on Dean’s face, on his lips and across his cheeks and Sam can’t get that image out of his head for days, of Dean covered in Sam’s come, how Dean let him.  
  
Sam’s discovering that no matter how much he thought he wanted Dean before, it’s nothing compared to now. At first, Dean seems to be trying to act completely normal whenever he’s not teaching Sam. Sam can’t stop himself from touching Dean more and more, staying tangled together longer after a wrestling match, sitting closer to him on the couch or in the car. Dean responds, can’t seem to help it, and every time he leaves his arm around Sam’s shoulder a little longer than usual, warmth fills Sam’s belly. He’s still trying to think of a way to get around Dean’s rules, but he doesn’t want Dean to call off their lessons if he pushes too far.  
  
Sam gets out of the shower one morning to find Dean in his room. Dad’s nowhere to be seen, and from the way Dean’s looking at him, Sam guesses he’s not going to be around anytime soon.  
  
“You wanna try something new this time, Sammy?” Dean asked a wicked grin. Sam nods quickly; it’s been a while since their last “lesson”.  
  
Dean pats the bedspread next to him, and Sam sits down. Dean gently pushes Sam until he’s lying back on the bed, Dean beside him, lying on his side, propped up on one elbow. Sam’s impatient, squirming a little, hands moving restlessly, but Dean takes his wrists and presses them down into the mattress before sliding his hands up Sam’s arms, to his shoulders. Dean gets on his knees, between Sam’s legs, and leans over Sam, above him. Sam wants to reach out, to curl a hand around the back of Dean’s neck and draw him in, kiss him, but Dean was pretty clear, so he leaves his hands where Dean put them, curling into the sheet under him.  
  
Dean hovers above Sam’s mouth, less than an inch away, and Sam arches up, trying to reach. Dean laughs, just once, huskily, before pressing their mouths together. He kisses Sam without holding back now, not like at first when Sam was just learning. Now Dean’s tongue pushes in almost right away, claiming, exploring Sam’s mouth and drawing him out to do the same. When Dean finally lets Sam come up for air, Sam’s dazed, out of breath, and hard. Dean starts biting a trail under Sam’s jaw, down his neck, along his collarbone. Sam flushes, embarrassed at his scrawny fifteen year old body for a moment, but Dean drags his teeth down to Sam’s nipple and Sam forgets how to be embarrassed, just presses himself up into the tongue that’s now circling his nipple, flicking over it every few passes. Dean pulls away for a second to grin up at Sam before moving to the other nipple, this time sucking it into his mouth. Every touch is going straight to Sam’s cock, hard and heavy and curving up toward his belly, already leaking. Dean pulls off with a last drag of teeth that has Sam gasping and fisting the covers in a white knuckled grip. Dean trails biting kisses down Sam’s side, stopping to suck at the crest Sam’s sharp hipbone, blood rising under the skin.  
  
Sam doesn’t realize his hips are moving in small circles until Dean grips his hips and holds him down, murmuring “Hold still for me Sammy.” Sam forces himself to hold as still as possible, barely daring to breathe, waiting to feel Dean’s mouth on his cock again, already remember slick lips and soft, wet tongue, the tight heat of Dean’s throat. Instead, he jumps at Dean’s tongue trailing the crease of his thigh, then curling around one ball, lifting it into his mouth. Dean pulls the other one in too, and Sam groans, back arching, legs spreading unconsciously. Dean tongues them for a moment longer, before gently letting them go, and moving further down. He presses his tongue against the skin just behind Sam’s balls, and Sam feels a surge of pleasure, has to stop himself from grabbing his cock. Instead, he digs the fingers of his right hand into his thigh and holds on.  
  
Dean’s tongue slips further still, around Sam’s hole, and Sam feels himself clench involuntarily. He theoretically knows this is something people do, but he didn’t think Dean would ever- -  
  
Evidently Dean would, because he is, his tongue running over Sam’s hole over and over, getting it slick, and Sam can feel himself relaxing just a fraction. Then Dean’s tongue is there, right there, pressing in, and Sam takes a breath, willing his body to unclench. He feels the tip push inside, then more, Dean making his tongue firm, spreading Sam open. The intrusion feels weird, makes him feel too full, almost like he can’t breathe, and too open, like he’s exposed, on display. That feeling intensifies as Dean grips under Sam’s thighs and lifts, pressing Sam’s knees to his chest. Sam grabs his knees, keeps himself spread for Dean, and something about that sparks another rush of heat in his belly.  
  
Dean’s tongue fucks in further, then out, and teases at the sensitive rim for a moment, before pushing in again, deeper this time. Sam throws his head back, trying to shift further down the bed, get Dean even deeper inside him, and Dean laughs a little, vibrations going straight into Sam. Dean pulls out again, and when he doesn’t push right back in, Sam whines a little. Dean chuckles again, voice lower than usual, rougher, and Sam feels something else pressing against his wet hole. He tenses for a moment, then realizes it’s Dean’s fingers, and relaxes. Dean pushes in to the first knuckle and twists, and Sam jolts at how good it feels. Dean pulls out, and pushes a second spit slick finger in with the first. There’s only the slightest hint of the pain Sam expected, nothing compared to the overwhelming pleasure spreading through him, both at the sensation and the thought of Dean inside him. Sam tries to push back against Dean’s fingers, and Dean gives a little groan before pulling his fingers out. Sam lets out a little sob, opening his mouth to beg, but Dean pushes and pulls at his limbs and hips until he flips over, knees spread, tucked under him, ass in the air. Dean pushes both fingers back in, and Sam understand why Dean moved him when he tries fucking back and finds it so much easier. Dean only pumps his fingers a couple more times before letting Sam take over, fucking himself back on Dean’s fingers. Dean crooks them a little and twists and Sam lets out a strangled cry as he hits something, something that sends a shot of almost unbearable pleasure through him.  
  
Dean reaches his other hand around and wraps it around Sam’s heavy, leaking cock, and it only takes two strokes, Sam shoving himself back on Dean’s fingers then forward into Dean’s fist, before he’s shaking hard and coming onto Dean’s hand and the bed.  
  
Sam collapses right away, grunting as Deans’ fingers are pulled out of him too fast. He tries to turn over, to look at Dean, but none of his limbs seem to be working and he can’t remember how to talk. He does manage a croaky little whine, which seems to work because Dean lies down beside him and puts his arms around Sam. Sam can feel Dean’s cock hard through his jeans, can even feel what might be a wet spot at the head, but he can’t seem to find any kind of energy to try and do something about it. Instead, he curls himself against Dean and falls asleep.  
  
***  
  
Dad comes back the next day, but it’s just for supplies and when he takes off again Sam decides it’s time to see if he can get Dean to break his “rules”. He lies in bed at night, trying to figure out the best plan of attack, trying not to be discouraged by the fact that he knows next nothing about how to seduce someone. Dean never really has to do anything to get Sam hard and practically begging; Dean’s a paragon of self control in comparison.  
  
Finally, Sam decides to corner Dean. He slips into the bathroom, naked, when Dean’s showering, and steps in with him. Dean turns with a start and a sigh of exasperation.  
  
“What are you doing, Sam?” Dean asks, like it isn’t obvious.  
  
“Just let me suck you, Dean. C’mon man, you know you want it, just let me...” Sam says, sliding his hand along Dean’s wet skin. Dean grabs Sam’s wrist and spins him around til Sam’s chest is pressed against the tiled shower wall. Dean’s mouth is against Sam’s ear, and his voice is gruff, low.  
  
“I said no, Sam. I’m not gonna tell you again.”  
  
Sam hears the shower curtain, then the door, and he’s left under the rapidly cooling spray. He’s breathing too fast and he tries not to wonder why this little encounter, essentially a rejection, left him blindingly hard.

***

Dean doesn’t touch Sam again for a week after Sam crashed his shower. Sam’s starting to get desperate, the blistering heat and lack of anything else to do resulting in Dean, shirtless, bent over the Impala’s engine, sweat darkening his hair at the temples, beading on his skin, trickling down his back, and Sam practically salivating from the shady porch.    
  
In the end, Sam manages to ask casually over breakfast. He’s spent the past few afternoons sitting on the back porch, staring at Dean as he works on the Impala, trying to work up the nerve to ask. The distance Dean’s put between them, the lack of any touching, even casual, has Sam itching for Dean’s hands on him. He doesn’t meet Dean’s eyes as he asks, keeping his voice light.  
  
“Hey Dean? Think you could give me another lesson today?”  
  
There’s a pause, then Dean answers.  
  
“That depends. You ready to stick to the rules this time?”  
  
Sam nods so hard it sort of hurts his neck.  
  
“Good. You want anything specific?”  
  
Sam glances up at Dean to see if he’s teasing, but he looks serious. Sam shrugs, not sure how to answer.  
  
“You seemed to like my fingers in you,” Dean says, hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.  
  
Sam’s feels his face go hot, and he nods dumbly.  
  
“And my mouth?”  
  
Sam nods again.  
  
Dean grins, and slips off his chair to his knees. He shoulders his way between Sam’s thighs, running one hand up to Sam’s hip. Dean looks up at Sam through his lashes and presses his open mouth against the head of Sam’s cock through his pants, breathing hot damp air, mouthing at it, and Sam can’t help but push up into the friction.  
  
“You wanna fuck my mouth Sammy? Want me to let you?” Dean’s voice is already rough, low, and Sam nods frantically.  
  
“Ask me.”  
  
“Please. Please Dean.”  
  
A shudder goes through Dean at that, then he’s yanking Sam up out of the chair, dragging his sweatpants to his knees and swallowing Sam’s cock down. Sam’s knees almost buckle, and he grips the table for support. Dean pulls off to run his tongue down the underside of Sam’s cock, over Sam’s balls, then back up, working the spot where the shaft meets the head. Sam’s hips jerk forward involuntarily at that, and Dean pulls back to grin up at him. He takes Sam’s hand and places on the back of his head, then licks his lips and presses them to the head, tonguing the slit for a second before sinking his mouth slowly, slowly down. Sam pulls Dean’s head closer experimentally, and Dean moans around his cock. Sam grabs Dean’s head with both hands and fucks into the tight wet heat, gasping as Dean’s throat flutters around him. Dean’s looking up at him with watering eyes and pink cheeks, lips stretched around his cock and Sam’s suddenly worried he’s choking him, but when he tries to pull out Dean grabs his ass and pulls him in again. Sam starts rolling his hips in a steady rhythm, guided by Dean’s hands, and he knows he’s not going to last but he wants to hold on, really doesn’t want this to end.  
  
Dean pulls off, just for a second before he’s sliding his lips back down Sam’s cock, and Sam doesn’t understand why until he feels a slick fingertip sliding behind his balls, pressing at his hole, teasing. Sam shoves back on it, then forward into Dean’s mouth. He feels Dean’s finger circling, searching inside him, then suddenly it hits that spot inside him and he’s coming down Dean’s throat, not so much as a warning leaving his mouth, just a choked off moan as his cock pulses. Dean swallows around him, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes, and doesn’t pull off until Sam’s cock is growing soft.  
  
Sam collapses back in his chair, boneless,  and watches Dean stagger away, presumably to the bathroom. Sam hears the door slam and manages to stumble down the hall on shaky legs just in time to hear Dean’s muttered, “Fuck... Shit, fuck Sammy.”  
  
Sam smiles to himself and scrambles back to the kitchen table for breakfast, suddenly ravenous.  
  
***  
  
That night, Sam’s back to plotting. He remembers how Dean shuddered when Sam begged, and he’s pretty sure that’ll be his way in. It doesn’t hurt that just thinking about begging Dean to fuck him has Sam hard all over again.  
  
He waits until Dean initiates another “lesson”, two days later, figuring it’ll be easier to get Dean to fuck him if they’re already halfway there.  
  
Dean has Sam pushed up against the driver’s door of the Impala, behind the house, barely hidden from the street. Dean’s kissing Sam hard, one hand buried in Sam’s hair, the other sliding down Sam’s back, into his pants, to grab his ass roughly. He squeezes and Sam moans into Dean’s mouth.  
  
Dean pulls his hand out and spins Sam, pinning him to the car with one forearm while he does something Sam can’t see. Sam hears crinkling, and finds himself sending up a quick prayer that it’s a condom and Dean’s finally going to just fuck him. Instead, he feels Dean’s hand slipping back down into his pants, down the cleft of his ass, slick fingers finding his hole and rubbing. Sam pushes back into it, feet spreading apart, and Dean nips the back of his neck.  
  
When Dean finally, finally presses a finger into Sam, Sam’s shaking slightly, gripping the Impala so hard his knuckles turn white. Dean fucks him with his finger excruciatingly slowly, keeping Sam still with his other hand curled around Sam’s hip. When Dean finds Sam’s prostate, his knees nearly give. It’s somehow too much and not nearly enough and Sam’s shaking, trying to shove back against Dean.  
  
“More... Dean, please. Please... more,” Sam groans, no longer caring about his plan to wait until Dean was too turned on to be reasonable about anything, no longer caring about anything but this twisting want low in his belly.  
  
Dean bites the nape of his neck again, then slides his tongue along Sam’s skin, raising goosebumps all over Sam. He slips another finger into Sam, and Sam lets out a moan, hips trying frantically to buck back into Dean. Dean drags his teeth along to Sam’s shoulder, pulling at the neckline of Sam’s tee shirt, and adds a third finger. Sam arches into the burn, the feeling of fullness, the way Dean twists his fingers inside him and rubs at his prostate. He’s overwhelmed, Dean’s fingers inside him, Dean’s body pressed tight against him, Dean’s lips on his skin, and the need in him is suddenly sharp, almost too much to bear.  
  
“Dean please, pleasepleaseplease just please, need you inside me, need you, fuck, Dean please...” Sam’s practically sobbing, begging, hands losing their grip on the car as he bends himself forward, slipping down the windshield to the hood, the movement dragging Dean with him, pressing the hard line of Dean’s cock against Sam for a moment before Dean shifts, shuffling back an inch. He shoves his fingers harder into Sam, nailing his prostate over and over, and his other hand leaves Sam’s hip. Sam hears him muttering something, and tries to focus, tries to make sense of it.  
  
“Want me to fuck you Sammy? I’m fucking you right now, this not good enough for you? You look like you’re enjoying it, writhing around on my fingers, practically humping my car. You want more Sammy? What do you want?”  
  
Dean’s voice is low, practically a growl, and it starts a fire in Sam’s belly, heat spreading through him. Dean’s right, he’s rubbing himself against the edge of the Impala, and he’s going to come in a minute, less if Dean keeps talking.  
  
“Tell me, Sam. Tell me what you want,” Dean repeats, his fingers shoving in viciously on the last word.  
  
“I... I need... Dean I need you. Need you... inside me, please Dean,” Sam manages, between gasps.  
  
“Fuck, Sammy. ‘M inside you right now,” Dean replies, curling his fingers as if to remind Sam.  
  
“Your cock.... Please Dean just fuck me. Fuck me,” Sam says, and Dean’s fingers jerk as Sam hears a shuddering gasp from behind him. The realization that Dean is coming pushes Sam over the edge, and his hips shove furiously between the car and Dean’s motionless fingers as his cock pulses in his pants.  
  
Sam barely notices as Dean pulls his fingers out and wipes them on Sam’s pants, then lays his body over Sam’s. The car is scorching hot, it’s almost midday and Sam’s arms and belly are burning, but he can’t seem to move. Dean’s cheek is pressed against the back of Sam’s neck, pressed flush against all the way to their knees, and every inch is comfort, safety. By the time Sam lets Dean drag him back into the house, they’re sweaty all over again, this time from the heat, and Dean pushes Sam into the bathroom with a muttered, “Shower,” before going to make lunch.  
  
***  
  
When Sam gets out of the shower, he’s just starting to feel a little sore. He sits gingerly on the couch and Dean hands him a stack of grilled cheese.  
  
“So,” Dean starts in his serious voice, and Sam’s stomach clenches for a moment. Dean’s going to call the whole thing off, he’s going to say things got out of hand, that Sam can’t go around begging to get fucked. Sam’s already planning his retort, deciding which argument will win Dean over, when Dean continues.  
  
“You mean what you said earlier? You want more than my fingers, or was that just the heat of the moment?”  
  
Sam blushes scarlet, the words somehow far more embarrassing when he’s not moments from coming in his pants. He nods, then decides if he’s going to be honest, he may as well lay it all out there.  
  
“I need it, Dean. Please. I can’t stop thinking about it. Just... Please,” Sam says, forcing himself to keep his eyes on Dean, biting his lip to stop himself from hiding under his bangs like he wants to.  
  
Dean closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them, he’s looking out the window.  
  
“Okay, I’ll give you what you need Sammy,” Dean says, voice casual, and he collapses on the couch and turns on the TV. Sam gets the message. Conversation over.  
  
***  
  
Dean takes off the next morning, leaving Sam with simple instructions: “Don’t burn the house down, don’t let any strangers in, and if Dad calls, don’t tell him I left you alone.” Dean just winks when Sam asks where he’s going, the kind of wink that has Sam’s gut twisting in anticipation.  
  
The anticipation fades after Dean’s been gone three hours, and Sam trying to heat up leftover pizza on the toaster, getting mildly concerned about the dripping cheese and burning smell, when he hears the Impala pull up. He fights the urge to run to the door like he used to when he was a kid and Dean came home, when Dean would swing Sam into his arms and mess his hair up and let Sam wrap his skinny little arms and legs around him. Instead, Sam focuses on the now smoking toaster, trying to scrape the blackened cheese out with a butter knife. He hears the door open but doesn’t turn around.  
  
“What the hell are you doing?” Dean says, suddenly right behind Sam, one hand dragging Sam’s knife away from the toaster, the other unplugging it.  
  
Sam opens his mouth to answer, but Dean’s still pressed up against him, breathing hard, pushing Sam into the kitchen counter. Sam almost rolls his eyes at the way his body responds to Dean like a clock, his hips canting back, his head falling against Dean’s shoulder, his cock steadily hardening in his pants.  
  
Dean smacks Sam lightly on the back of the head and backs away.  
  
“Jesus Sammy, ‘s that all you think about? You coulda electrocuted yourself.”  
  
Sam turns around to face Dean, feeling a spark of defiance.  
  
“Yeah Dean. That’s all I think about. Every second of every day, all I do is think about how bad I want my big brother to fuck me,” Sam says. He’d been trying for sarcasm but somehow that got lost along the way, his voice cracking. He watched Dean’s eyes widen slightly before he turned back around.  
  
“Anyway, I was being careful,” Sam says, going back to scraping the cheese out of the safely unplugged toaster, trying to ignore the way Dean’s still just standing there, still breathing hard.  
  
Dean finally walks away, going into his room for a minute before heading outside. Sam watches him practice throwing knives, shirtless in the hot sun, and tries to hold off on asking where he was all morning. He’s still a little embarrassed by his outburst earlier, but then again Dean said he’d give Sam what he needed, and now here he is, sweaty and panting and deadly accurate with those knives, and Sam feels like he’s coming out of his skin with how badly he wants to touch.  
  
***  
  
Dean’s proud of himself for finding this solution. He’s been fighting himself on this, fighting how deep this want goes, how it permeates every inch of him and pushes to the forefront of his mind no matter how many times he shoves it back. He’s certain that he’s right about this though: he cannot fuck his fifteen year old brother.  
  
So this is his solution: a sex toy, and the distraction it will provide for Sammy. In the back of his mind, Dean knows this isn’t what Sam’s asking for, not what Sam needs. He just thinks that maybe Sam doesn’t know that yet, and he’ll think this is enough for now. It also won’t do anything for Dean in a physical sense, and that fact is keeping Dean’s guilt at bay. Somehow, it’s okay to fuck Sammy, as long as Dean can’t get off on it. He’s trying not to examine that too closely.  
  
Dean decides to let Sam make the first move, knowing fifteen year old boys aren’t known for their patience, especially when it comes to sex. Sam asks him casually over dinner.  
  
***  
  
Sam’s been fighting his curiosity all day, and he finally gives in over dinner.  
  
“So where’d you go?” he asks, no preamble; Dean knows he’s been trying not to ask anyway.  
  
“Got you a present,” Dean answers through a mouthful of mac n cheese.  
  
Sam’s eyes narrow in suspicion when Dean winks. He opens his mouth to insist that Dean elaborate and Dean quickly holds up a hand.  
  
“Okay, okay don’t get all whiney. I told you I’d give you what you needed, right?” Dean waits until Sam nods. “I’m not going to fuck you until you’re legal - hold on - so I got you something  to... uh... tide you over.”  
  
Sam stares at Dean for a moment, then the words click into place his jaw drops.  
  
“A dildo? You got me a...” Sam can’t even finish, suddenly aware that he’s blushing furiously and that he’s starting to get hard. Again. Dean nods, taking another bite, watching with growing amusement.  
  
“Will you... will you teach me how to use it?” Sam asks, looking up at Dean, feeling suddenly very young.  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, Sammy, ‘course I will. ‘S why I got it,” Dean says, his tone surprisingly gentle.  
  
“Tonight?” Sam asks eagerly, before he can stop the word from coming out.  
  
“Sure. Tonight, if you want,” Dean says.  
  
Sam smiles and tries to finish dinner, but his appetite seems to have vanished, replaced by nervous energy.    
  
***  
  
The butterflies in Sam’s stomach seem to have increased exponentially by the time Dean knocks on his door an hour later. Sam’s showered, made his bed, and awkwardly put on and taken off various layers of clothing. He’s settled on a tee shirt and boxers, knowing it’s coming off anyway, but not wanting to be naked when Dean comes in. Dean, of course, is fully dressed. He’s also holding a paper bag in one hand.  
  
“Ready?” Dean asks, watching Sam carefully. Sam schools his features into a relaxed, comfortable expression, and nods. Dean comes to sit next to him, putting the bag down on the ground beside the bed, and strokes one palm firmly down Sam’s back. Sam presses back into the warm hand, feeling the tension start to leave him. Dean rubs his back a few more times, then pulls Sam’s teeshirt off, immediately ducking in to kiss Sam’s neck. Sam sighs, arousal starting to mix with his initial trepidation. Dean pushes his shoulders back until he’s lying flat on the bed, Dean leaning over him, hands still running over his body. Dean’s hands reach the waistband of Sam’s boxers, and his eyes never leave Sam’s face as he tugs them down. Sam’s fully hard now, nerves and arousal twisting in him, making him feel wound too tight.  
  
Dean kisses and nips a path down Sam’s body and it’s like a fire under his skin, warmth spreading from each spot Dean touches. He stops to suck a bruise in the dip beside Sam’s hipbone, holding Sam’s other hip down with one hand, maneuvering so he’s between Sam’s legs, Sam’s knees bent, feet flat on the bed. Sam can hear rustling, then a quiet snick, before Dean slides his tongue over his balls and Sam’s gone.

Dean licks up the shaft of Sam’s cock and wraps his mouth around the head. He slowly sinks his mouth down onto Sam’s cock and Sam doesn’t notice him grab his hand, but suddenly there’s something cold and wet on his fingers. Dean guides Sam’s hand down, behind Sam’s balls, to his hole, and Sam goes with it, too lost in the warm suction of Dean’s mouth to question anything. Sam finds himself pressing his finger into himself, Dean’s hand still guiding him, pushing gently on the back Sam’s hand to force him deeper. Dean pushes and pulls at Sam’s hand, clearly trying to get him to do something, but Sam can’t seem to focus on anything but Dean’s tongue, laving at the underside of his cock. Dean finally pulls his mouth away and laughs softly against Sam’s hip as Sam whines, hips pushing up toward Dean.

“Dude. Focus,” Dean says, successfully fucking Sam’s finger in and out of him now that he has Sam’s attention. Sam does focus now, and even more so when Dean pushes another of Sam’s fingers inside, then a third.  
  
“Open yourself up, Sammy. That’s it, spread your fingers a little.” Dean’s voice is a little rough now, and he’s dropped down to watch Sam’s fingers moving in and out. Dean leans in suddenly and licks Sam, tongue teasing along the stretched rim. Sam shudders and grabs the base of his own cock, fighting for control. Dean tugs on Sam’s wrist, then has to do it a second time, dragging Sam’s fingers out of him.  
  
Sam whines, but only for a second because suddenly Dean’s pressing something into his hand, something long and solid and almost velvety soft, and when Dean guides his hand again, something blunt and slick presses at his hole. It seems too big, too blunt, but Dean mouths at Sam’s cock and gently nudges Sam’s hand. Sam pushes it against himself, harder and harder, and just as it starts to hurt, he feels himself open up around it. It slides in ever so slowly, and Sam loses himself in the slight friction, the stinging stretch, and suddenly finds himself stopping, fist pressed to his ass, the entire length inside up, right up to the flared base.  
  
Dean pulls away to watch as Sam drags the toy slowly out, almost all the way, then shoves it back in. Sam hears a sharp breath from Dean, then Dean is pushing Sam’s knees back, up towards his chest, and the new angle has Sam gasping and rocking into the toy as he thrusts it in and back out again. Dean grabs his wrist and adjusts the angle a couple of times, and suddenly it’s hitting Sam’s prostate, and Sam can feel every muscle in his body contracting each time it does. Dean’s hand is back on his cock and it only takes three strokes before Sam’s shaking with pleasure, coming all over his own stomach, hips fucking down onto the now stationary toy and back up into Dean’s hand.  
  
Sam shudders as he feels the toy leave him, then hears it thud to the floor. He tries to sit up, but all he can manage is to flop an arm at the empty space Dean occupied a moment ago. He pries his eyes open to see Dean sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from Sam. Sam opens his mouth to try and ask what Dean’s doing, but closes it when he sees Dean’s shoulder moving rhythmically, Dean’s back hunched, his head lowered.  
  
“Fuck... fuck, _fuck_ Sammy... God, so hot, fuck.”  
  
Sam can just barely hear Dean muttering under his breath before he stiffens and exhales hard. Dean puts himself away before turning around, still pink cheeked, and gets up. Sam whines at him, and Dean smiles.  
  
“I know Sammy, I’m just gonna get us something to clean up with.”  
  
Dean comes back with a washcloth and cleans Sam up before lying down next to him. Sam’s starting to feel human again, maybe even capable of speech, but he doesn’t bother, instead curling himself up against Dean, as close as he can get. Dean wraps an arm around him and kisses Sam’s hair, and Sam nuzzles into Dean’s neck, sliding a hand up under Dean’s shirt. He waits for Dean to push his hand away, to tell him no, but Dean allows it, so Sam just revels in the feel of Dean’s skin under his.  
  
When he wakes up, it’s dark and Dean’s still there, shirt and pants removed, a sheet pulled up over both of them. Sam nuzzles closer and falls back to sleep.  
  
***  
  
The roar of Dad’s truck pulling up to the house wakes Sam. He can hear Dean in the kitchen, that weird buzzing noise coming from the ancient coffee maker. Sam throws on a pair of sweatpants and brushes his teeth. He’s about to step out of the bathroom when he catches a glimpse of his reflection and freezes. There are bruises on his hips and torso, dark where Dean sucked his hip, lighter where he nipped along Sam’s skin. Sam presses a finger to the mark on his hip and catches his breath, sense memory throwing him back to yesterday, to Dean’s mouth on him, Dean’s hands, Dean watching him, Dean coming to the image of Sam spread out before him.  
  
When Sam finally does make it out to the kitchen, safely covered up by a t shirt, the coffee’s brewed and Dean’s piling scrambled eggs onto three plates. Dad’s exhausted, barely does more than ruffle Sam’s hair and shovel food in his mouth before stumbling to his room. The snoring starts not three minutes after they hear Dad collapse on the bed, and Sam shoots Dean a questioning look.  
  
“We’re leaving tonight. Bobby called, caught wind of something in Colorado.”  
  
Sam nods. Figures that Dad would come back just for them to leave. Sometimes he doesn’t come back in between, if it’s not too far. Sam doesn’t mind right now, just wants to be alone with Dean.  
  
“Says I can come with this time,” Dean says lightly, like it’s nothing, like he doesn’t know Sam hates it when Dean goes on hunts.  
  
“Are you going to?” Sam says, trying not to make it a demand. Dean turns to look at Sam, and Sam blushes, knowing Dean can see right through him.  
  
“Only so much I can learn by practicing, Sammy. Gotta get out there, do it for real.” Dean says it like he’s explaining this to a child, and Sam can’t stand it. Can’t stand knowing that in a few days, a week if he’s lucky, Dean will be “out there”, up against a spirit or a witch or whatever Dad’s killing.  
  
Sam doesn’t answer, just finishes his breakfast and goes to pack.  
  
***

They’re up in the mountains and it’s pouring rain. The roof in this house leaks in at least seven places and the power went out two hours ago. This was the only place to stay and Dad keeps shooting them apologetic glances. He’d tried to leave them both at a motel at the last town, but Dean had insisted that he was coming on the hunt, and Dad won’t leave Sam alone so far away. Now, though, Dad’s saying he can’t leave Sam alone this close to the danger, the danger in this case being twelve people going missing over six years in a five mile radius. This house is just outside that area, but that doesn’t make it safe, according to Dad.  
  
Sam listens to Dean reasonably present his case, that Sam’s not a kid, that he can handle hanging out in a house, that he’ll have guns and salt, that the sooner Dean learns this stuff, the better. Finally, Dad sighs and announces he’s going to bed.  
  
Dean waits until he hears the door to Dad’s room shut before punching the couch cushion and kicking the armchair. Sam watches him take his anger out on the furniture before settling into the couch with a huff.  
  
“Did you mean that stuff about me not being a kid?” Sam asks curiously. “Or did you just say it to get Dad to let you come?”  
  
Dean looks at Sam with a look of faint surprise on his face.  
  
“ ‘Course I meant it. I know you can handle yourself.”  
  
“Then why won’t treat me like it?” Sam asks.  
  
Dean’s forehead creases in confusion for a moment before he gets it. His confusion resolves into exasperation.  
  
“Sam...” Dean says warningly.  
  
“No really, Dean, why? Why are you treating me like a kid in this one thing?” Sam asks.  
  
Dean just shakes his head and stands up.  
  
“I’m going to bed,” he says shortly, and does.  
  
They’re sharing a room in this house, and Sam, feeling a little guilty for starting a fight, gives him a few minutes to pretend to be asleep before going to bed himself.  
  
***  
  
The next morning, Dad announces that he’ll take Dean on an initial hike out to the spot the last missing people were seen, but then Dean’ll have to stay with Sam for the rest of the hunt. Dean’s torn between excitement at actually doing something and irritation that he probably won’t see any actual action. Sam sulks until they leave, then cheers up considerably. It’s still raining, so he starts a fire and promptly gets bored.  
  
The storm rages on, getting more violent with every crash of thunder, but Sam hardly notices, curled in a cocoon of warm blankets, bathed in the firelight. He’s reading an old yellowed copy of horrifying short stories when a pounding at the door shatters the calm. Sam hesitates before unlocking it until he hears Dad yell at him to open the door.  
  
Dad stumbles in, one arm supporting Dean, both of them covered head to toe in mud. Sam grabs Dean’s other side and heaves him over to the couch. Dean doesn’t have any obvious injuries that Sam can see, but he still checks everything anyway. Dad’s halfway back out the door before Sam notices he’s leaving.  
  
“Hey! What happened?” Sam demands, and Dad turns.  
  
“It’s okay, it just... it went through him. He’ll be fine, it’s just like having the wind knocked out of you,” Dad says, clearly trying to be reassuring.  
  
“It went through him? What did? How?” Sam’s not looking at Dad anymore. His gaze is fixed on Dean, on Dean’s blank eyes and his pale, clammy skin, the way his lips are lighter than usual, the way his hands are shaking.  
  
“It’s a ghost, Sam. Sometimes they do that. I promise he’ll be fine. There were some people out there, I’ve gotta go back. I’m gonna try to stay out there a few days, maybe see if there’s a way to get the others back. He’ll be fine, Sam, stop looking at him like he’s dead, he just needs to rest. Be safe, lock the doors, and Dean, take care of your brother.” That last part is tacked on like Dad doesn’t know how to leave the house without saying it, and then he’s gone.  
  
Sam leads Dean to the bathroom and pulls his soaked clothes off while the tub fills. Dean is pliant, allowing Sam to guide him into the bathtub and wash the mud off. Sam doesn’t speak, but he breathes a sigh of relief as Dean starts to look around, eyes looking less and less glassy. By the time Sam’s rinsing the mud out of Dean’s hair, he figures Dean can handle talking.  
  
"You okay?" Sam asks.  
  
Dean looks up at him, and Sam loses himself a little in how green Dean's eyes are, pupils constricted almost pinprick small. After a while, Dean shakes himself a little and nods, accepting Sam's outstretched hand. Dean's grip is surprisingly strong, and he doesn't seem to really need Sam's help to get out, which doesn't prevent Sam from wrapping a towel around him. Sam keeps an arm around Dean as they make their way back to the living room. Dean sits cross legged in front of the fire, still wearing the towel, and Sam kneels beside him. He has no idea what to say or do, just that he's not leaving Dean alone for a second like this. When Sam's legs start to go numb, he finally speaks up.  
  
"You want some food? We can grill stuff," Sam asks, trying to make it sound exciting, not mentioning that they don't actually have much to grill. They have about a million cans of beans, tuna, and a couple bags of rice, standard fare just in case Dad doesn't return as planned. Dean usually takes Sam grocery shopping for the stuff they actually eat, but they haven't done that yet, and all they have are leftovers from the road.  
  
Dean nods, eyes still fixed on the flames, and Sam goes to the kitchen to grab whatever supplies they've got. He comes back to find Dean kneeling at the very edge of the fireplace, hands open against the invisible barrier of heat, face dangerously close to the fire. Sam drops to his knees and pulls him back, trying not to be rough, not to let his panic show.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asks gently. Dean looks around at him like he's not sure when Sam got there, and Sam gives him a little shake. "Dean? You know where you are?"  
  
Dean just nods, and Sam feels the tension coil a little tighter.  
  
"Use your words, Dean."  
  
Dean throws him an irritated look and relief floods Sam.  
  
"Chill, Sam. 'M just a little out of it. Just… cold," Dean says, turning back to face the fire. Sam busies himself making peanut butter sandwiches and getting irrationally happy when he discovers they have half a pot of nutella left.  
  
***  
  
Dean seems back to his old self, lying on his back in front of the fire making fun of Sam, the pickle he has speared and roasting over the fire starting to smell. Sam's not sure why he's being called the gross one for trying to make peanut butter and tuna sandwich when Dean's concoction is currently emitting smoke and the most foul odor Sam's ever experienced. Dean won't let it go though, calling Sam nasty and disgusting and other words whose meanings Sam's not sure Dean actually knows, until Sam rolls off the couch and right onto Dean, the pickle falling, sizzling, into the fire.  
  
It starts out as wrestling but quickly devolves into frantic making out. Sam is unable to keep his hands from roaming over every part of Dean he can reach, expecting Dean to stop at any moment. Instead, Dean is doing the same, running his hands over Sam's body, occasionally gripping his hips or shoulders or the back of his neck before sliding his restless hands elsewhere. Dean's tongue is licking into Sam's mouth, running along the roof of his mouth, sliding along his teeth. Sam captures the tip and sucks, and Dean groans into his mouth. Sam's hips shift a little and he hopes Dean doesn't notice.  
  
Sam savors the solid warmth of Dean pinned under him, just a towel and Sam’s sweatpants between them. Dean’s hard, Sam can feel it, and he wants so badly to slip his hand down under the towel, to watch Dean’s face as Sam touches him, but he’s a hundred percent certain that’s not allowed. Instead, he brushes his hand down over Dean’s nipple, relishing the shiver that goes through Dean. Inspired, Sam skims his lips down over Dean’s jaw, his neck, his chest. Sam brushes his parted lips across Dean’s nipple, feeling it tighten against him. He closes his mouth over it and sucks lightly, and Dean arches up into it. Sam runs his tongue over and over Dean’s hardened nipple and Dean’s hand tightens on his arm almost painfully. When Sam grazes his teeth across Dean’s flesh, Dean shudders, hard, and pushes Sam off him. For a moment, Sam thinks he crossed the line and Dean’s going to leave, but Dean just rolls onto Sam and resumes kissing him.  
  
When Dean snakes a hand down into Sam’s pants, Sam bucks up into it, losing himself in the perfect pressure of Dean’s hand, the way Dean twists his wrist just right on the upstroke, and finds himself coming in his pants with Dean whispering filth in his ear, occasionally stopping to bite and suck at his neck.  
  
It’s not until the next morning, when Sam wakes up sated and happy, that he realized Dean didn’t get off. He knows Dean won’t let him touch, but he wants, more than anything, to make Dean feel good. Sam got a small taste of that last night and he wants more. He lies there, buried under the covers, listening to Dean moving around in the kitchen, and comes up with a plan.  
  
***  
  
Sam and Dean spend the morning outside, the wet, glittering forest turning them back into kids. The sky starts to darken in the afternoon, though, and by the time they’re scavenging thing to cook on the fire, it’s pouring again. They eat, and Dean even produces a can of peaches for dessert. Sam sneaks to their room to get what he needs and stashes it between the couch cushions while Dean cleans up, then joins Dean in front of the fire. Dean lets Sam slip under his arm to kiss his neck, shivering slightly when Sam bites down just under his jaw.  
  
Sam pushes and pulls at Dean until he drags himself up to sit on the sofa, laughing softly, and Sam crawls into his lap, blushing furiously. He’s doesn’t know how to do this, how to be smooth, how to seduce Dean, but he has a plan and he’s sticking to it.  
  
Sam straddles Dean’s thighs and wraps his arms around Dean’s neck, reaching up to kiss him again and again, slipping his tongue into Dean’s mouth like Dean’s taught him. He tugs at the hem of Dean’s shirt until Dean takes it off, and Sam smooths his hands over Dean’s shoulders, down Dean’s chest, brushing against one nipple then the other. Dean’s breathing hard now, hands gripping Sam’s hips, and when Sam scrapes his teeth against his nipple Dean’s hips jerk a little. Sam starts to unbutton his own pants and Dean quickly moves to help. Sam lets Dean maneuver him until he’s naked, back on Dean’s lap, mouthing at Dean’s collarbone with one hand gently rubbing at Dean’s nipple, enjoying the little shudders it evokes. Dean’s head is thrown back, his eyes closed, and Sam takes the advantage to plunge his hand between the couch cushions and pull out the lube. He looks up to see Dean watching him, expression unreadable. Sam slicks up his fingers silently and Dean opens his mouth, then closes it as Sam reaches behind himself.  
  
Sam’s face is burning and he’s struggling to keep his eyes on Dean’s, but when he rubs one finger around and over his hole and can’t stop a moan from escaping his lips, Dean’s hand tightens on his hip, so he can't look _that_ ridiculous. Sam pushes inside himself and cries out a little, and Dean’s eyes flicker down to where Sam’s hand is disappearing behind his body and back up Sam’s face.  
  
“What are you doing, Sammy?” Dean says, voice low and rough. It takes Sam a second to understand what Dean’s asking, because he thinks it’s pretty obvious what he’s doing.  
  
“I’m... I’m fingering myself... opening myself,” Sam manages not to stutter too badly, but the way Dean bites his lip is worth the discomfort.  
  
“How many fingers?”  
  
“One.”  
  
“Add another,” Dean says, and Sam immediately complies. He gasps a little when it first pushes in, starting to feel the burn, and Dean groans.  
  
“You gonna fuck yourself in front of me Sammy? You gonna show me how you like it?”  
  
Sam wants to make fun of Dean for the bad porn dialogue, except it’s getting him impossibly hard and he feels himself clench a little around his fingers. He balances himself with his other hand on Dean’s shoulder and pushes his fingers around like Dean does. When he finds what he’s looking for, his hips buck and his knees spread further. He realizes his eyes are closed and opens them to find Dean staring at him with an intensity that borders on frightening.  
  
“Do it again,” Dean says in a soft growl. Sam pushes against his prostate again and whines a little this time. He takes his other hand off Dean’s shoulder and goes to wrap it around his cock, but Dean grabs his wrist and pins it to his own chest. Sam digs his nails into Dean’s skin to stop from screaming in frustration, hips pumping uselessly against air, the motion shoving his fingers in and out of him. Dean smiles at Sam’s obvious need and it snaps Sam back to himself. He pulls his hand out and reaches back into the couch. Dean opens his mouth to object then closes it when he sees the toy in Sam’s hand. Sam watches Dean’s expression change, from question to hunger.  
  
“Do it. Fuck yourself, Sammy, do it,” Dean says, almost frantic, and Sam slicks the toy up before bringing it around to rest behind him. He lifts himself up and positions the toy between Dean’s thighs before lowering himself slowly. When the blunt tip of the toy first pushes against Sam’s slick hole, he’s not sure he opened himself up enough to take it, and he hesitates for a second.  
  
“Do it Sammy, c’mon, fuck, do it.” Dean’s voice is so rough, and just hearing it sends sparks of pleasure shooting down Sam’s spine. He pushes himself down harder and the tip of the toy slides in, stretching him. He sinks slowly onto it, the burn mingling with the sensation of fullness to pull a long, low moan out of him.  
  
“Fuck yes, Sammy, take it, take all of it,” Dean says, babbling almost incoherently. Sam waits until he reaches the wide, flared base to start talking.  
  
“Dean... God I wish this was you inside me. Want it so bad, want this to be you spreading me open like this, so full... fuck, Dean, want you to fuck me,” Sam says, shifting his hips a little as he speaks. Dean lets out a pained groan and grips Sam’s hips, pulling him up the length of the toy before shoving him back down. Sam cries out as it fills him again, and he doesn’t have time to catch his breath before Dean’s pulling him up again, slamming him back down. Dean keeps up a punishing rhythm as he starts speaking again.  
  
“You want my cock, Sammy? Want me to fuck you like this? Want to fuck yourself on my cock, ride me?” Dean punctuates each question with another hard shove and Sam’s crying out every time, trying to say “yes” but not sure he’s even capable of words. Suddenly Dean lets go of him and Sam slumps forward a little, off balance.  
  
“Do it. Ride it like you’d ride me. Show me how you’d let me fuck you, Sam. Show me.”  
  
Sam pulls himself upright and gives an experimental roll of his hips, sighing a little at the drag of the toy inside him. He rises up and slides back down, twisting his hips to try and find that sweet spot. He does, three thrusts later, and then he’s moaning, rising up and down, over and over to push the toy against that spot. His thighs are shaking with the effort and he can feel a thin sheen of sweat starting to cover his skin, but it’s worth it for the way Dean can’t seem to take his eyes off him. Sam moans Dean’s name at a particularly hard thrust, and Dean’s hand drops to his own lap, grinding his palm down against the obvious bulge in his pants. A shot of warm pleasure goes through Sam at the sight and he says Dean’s name again, pushing himself up and down at a punishing pace.  
  
“Fuck... fuck Sammy yeah like that... ride me like that...”  
  
Dean’s rubbing himself steadily now, the hand on Sam’s hip sliding around to wrap around Sam’s cock. Dean’s hand is slick with sweat and precome and Sam thrusts into it and back down onto the toy, caught between the tight wet heat and the hard jabs of fullness. He’s moaning Dean’s name on every stroke now, and Dean’s chanting back “yeah, yeah, yeah” as his hips push up into his own hand. Dean takes his hand off himself for a second to reach around Sam. Sam’s confused until he hears a click then a buzz, and the toy starts to vibrate, sending pleasure straight to the base of Sam's spine.  
  
Sam speeds up to match Dean’s quickening pace and the tight coil of pleasure in his belly starts to unwind as he feels Dean’s thighs tense. Dean’s hips stutter then thrust faster against his hand, rubbing himself furiously now through his pants. Sam pumps into Dean’s other hand and feels himself tighten and clench around the toy, the vibrations more powerful the tighter he squeezes. Dean’s hips lift as he comes, his face screwed up in pleasure, and Sam feels his own orgasm hit him a moment later. Every sensation is suddenly overwhelming, the pressure inside him, the vibrations, the way Dean’s fist is tightening around his cock, and he whites out as thick ropes of come cover Dean’s stomach.  
  
When Sam comes back to himself, the toy is gone, and Dean’s arms are wrapped around him. As Sam blinks up at him, Dean looks down and smooths Sam’s hair away from his face.  
  
“Sorry,” Dean says, voice fucked out and raw. Sam can’t make words, so he just blinks again until Dean elaborates. “Didn’t mean to... you know.... get so carried away.”  
  
Sam struggles to find the words and finally settles on simplicity.  
  
“I wanted you to get off. I wanted to get you off.”  
  
Dean stares at Sam with a blank expression, then slowly shifts Sam to the side and gets up. Sam resists the urge to cling to him. Dean looks back at Sam once before disappearing to the bathroom, and Sam can hear the shower start. He finds the toy and cleans it in the kitchen before hiding it and the lube back in Dean’s duffel. He can’t decide if his plan worked or not. All he knows is that he’s sore and wants more than anything to be wrapped up in Dean’s arms and warmth, and instead he’s alone.  
  
***  
  
Sam knows he pushed too far, like when he tried to shower with Dean. This time, though, Dean’s not withholding physical contact. There’s no obvious distance between them, so it takes Sam a few days to notice that Dean is being completely platonic. Where lately he’d leave his hand on Sam’s waist while they walked, let Sam press them together when they wrestled, even kissed Sam a few times for no discernible reason, Dean’s touches are devoid of suggestion now. It’s all ruffling hair and light punches and bumping shoulders.  
  
The day Dad comes back, Sam tries to kiss Dean. Dean doesn’t said a word, just turns his head and pretends it didn’t happen. There’s an anvil in Sam’s stomach and it doesn’t budge as they leave Colorado behind.  
  
Sam gives Dean the space he needs for a week before he cracks. It’s one o’clock in the morning and they’re each lying on a motel bed, separated by six inches of grey brown carpet. Every day since the cabin, Sam’s been getting more restless, more twitchy, needing Dean’s hands on him, needing Dean’s fingers tight on his hips and Dean’s mouth on his and Dean surrounding him. Instead he gets to watch Dean from this non-distance, watch Dean flirt with their waitress before nudging Sam and nodding at his fries, watch how Dean’s mouth moves when he sings along to the same old Zeppelin tape as they drive behind Dad’s truck on a seemingly endless road trip, watch Dean lay back in his bed in a pair of boxers and nothing else, apparently oblivious to Sam’s blatant stare.  
  
This is time they could have together, for them, Dad’s obviously not coming back to the room tonight and Sam is getting so mad at Dean. He just wants to bridge the gap between their beds and cover Dean’s body with his, press every inch of their skin together until Dean can’t pretend this didn’t happen.  
  
When he snaps, it’s something small that does it. Dean reaches over to tug the remote out of Sam’s hand without looking away from the TV and Sam yanks it back with a snarl.  
  
“What the hell?” Dean asks, turning to face Sam with more surprise than anger in his voice.  
  
“Dean, c’mon. When are you gonna get over it?”  
  
Dean’s face goes blank, and he turns back to face the TV.  
  
“Dean.” Sam’s voice breaks a little, and he swallows around the lump rising in his throat. Dean turns back to look at him and his expression softens.  
  
“Sam.... Hey, it’s okay. Look, you wanted me to teach you, so I did. You learned what you wanted, right? Now we go back to being brothers.”  
  
Sam’s quiet for a while. He doesn’t think they stopped being brothers, doesn’t think Dean thinks that either. He’s not sure what Dean’s problem with them “going too far” is, but he’s starting to think Dean might not be able to get past it. That doesn’t help with Sam’s itching need to feel Dean’s warm skin, to press his face to Dean’s neck and breathe in that smoky, metallic scent. Sam wants to ask if he can just sleep in Dean’s bed, no pressure, but he sees the way Dean turns away to stare hard at the TV, and stops himself.  
  
Sam tosses and turns that night, too cold and too hot and too needy. The more he tries to ignore the want crawling under his skin, the more intense it becomes. By morning, Sam’s exhausted, and he falls asleep in the car as Dean drives them to meet up with Dad.  
  
***  
  
Three weeks later and Sam’s lost track of where they are. Dad’s looking at him funny, asking if he’s feeling okay, pressing his palm to Sam’s forehead and peering into his eyes. Finally, he tells Dean that the boys’ll have to stay here, in this tiny apartment, at least until Sam gets better. Dad’s moving on to the next town, hunting down the curse that’s hopping around the county. Dean answers with his usual “Yes, sir,” and Sam just nods, staring out the window. It’s bright and sunny, too sunny, and somehow it all seems colorless to Sam, flat and empty. He hasn’t been sleeping much and it’s messed up his appetite so he’s never really hungry.  
  
Dean leaves, and Sam curls up in the ugly gray armchair. He’s almost dozing off when Dean comes back, arms full of groceries, and starts putting things away. Dean’s mostly given up on talking to Sam. Sam refused to speak to him for the first couple of days, then forgot he was supposed to be mad, but couldn’t be bothered to form actual sentences, so Dean eventually let it go.  
  
Now, though, Sam looks up to find Dean handing him a plate.  
  
“Eat up, Sammy. Dad says you gotta eat more, you’re looking skinny.”  
  
Sam nods and takes the plate, nibbling at a corner of the sandwich. Dean sighs and sits on the couch, turning on the TV to a staticky cartoon. After a couple of minutes of glancing over at Sam every few seconds, Dean stands.  
  
“C’mere,” Dean says, leaning over Sam and pulling him easily onto the couch. He sits back down beside Sam and pulls him into his lap. Sam’s surprised to find himself suddenly curled against Dean’s chest, one of Dean’s arms holding him there, the other lifting the sandwich to Sam’s mouth. Sam takes a bite, then another, and it tastes wonderful. Dean doesn’t get mad when Sam wipes the grease off his face onto his T shirt before rubbing his nose against Dean’s chest. He just tightens his arms around Sam and rocks him gently, and Sam feels a little of the numbness melt away.  
  
“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. Shhh,” Dean croons, his face in Sam’s hair, his lips moving against Sam. Sam tilts his head up and presses his lips to Dean’s, fast, before Dean can pull away. He feels Dean stiffen, start to move back, and Sam falls back against Dean’s chest. He stays there, trying to make himself heavy the way he used to when he was a kid so Dean won’t remove him.  
  
***  
  
Sam wakes up in his bed, still cradled in Dean’s arms. His own arms are wrapped around Dean, hands fisted in Dean’s shirt. He slowly relaxes, releasing Dean and straightening to lie beside him.  
  
“Wouldn’t let me go, not even when you were asleep,” Dean says, and Sam blinks up at him, surprised to find him awake. He looks around again and realizes it’s still daytime. Dean’s lying on his side, facing Sam, one arm still casually draped over him.  
  
“What’s going on, Sam?”  
  
Sam burrows into Dean’s chest, ignoring the question, and Dean lets him, pulls him in and strokes his hair, waiting. Eventually Sam speaks, muffled by Dean’s shirt.  
  
“I missed you.”  
  
“I didn’t go anywhere.”  
  
Sam resists the instinct to whine back, “Yes you did”, instead waiting for Dean to go on.  
  
“It’s done, Sam. It’s over. If we keep going with this, you’re gonna keep pushing and someday I’m gonna crack, and fuck you, and...”  
  
“And what?” Sam demands, pulling back a little to meet Dean’s eye. “What’s so bad about that?”  
  
“You’re my kid brother. I’m supposed to take care of you. I’m not supposed to fuck you up even worse than we already are.” Dean holds up a hand as Sam moves to interrupt. “You were 6 months old, Sam. Six months old when we lost our shot at a childhood. I’m not taking this away from you too. You’re gonna go through this the normal way.”  
  
Sam stares at Dean, trying to process. He sort of gets it, gets that Dean has always felt responsible for him, gets that Dean wants to give him the best life possible. That’s where it stops making sense, though, because all Sam wants in the world is Dean, and Dean thinks, what, that’s not normal enough for Sam?  
  
“So you want me to fuck people I don’t care about, people I don’t want, just because it’s more normal? Because it won’t “fuck me up”?” Sam asks, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.  
  
Dean shakes his head with a sigh.  
  
“No. That’s not what I want.”  
  
“Then..?”  
  
“Do what you want, Sammy. Do what makes you happy. But I’m not gonna fuck my little brother when he’s fifteen years old and doesn’t even know what he’s getting himself into.”  
  
“I know- -”  
  
“No, Sam, you don’t. You really have no fucking idea. I never should have agreed to this in the first place.” Dean starts to pull away, to roll out of bed, and Sam grabs at him.  
  
“Dean- -”  
  
“You gonna start acting human again, Sam?” When Sam nods, Dean leaves.  
  
Sam lies back down and stares up at the ceiling, Dean’s words echoing in his head. “I never should have agreed to this in the first place.”  
  
***  
  
By the time school starts, Sam has learned to act normal around Dean. They spar, wrestle, go for drives, and fight over the remote like before. There are small differences, like how Dean doesn’t walk around shirtless as much, and Sam hasn’t overheard him jerking off when they have to share a room since before the “incident”, but for the most part, they’re back to being just brothers. It only took Sam a week to stop having to remind himself not to stare at Dean. He doesn’t have to be careful about how much he touches Dean anymore, either. He’s stopped dwelling on every touch, every taste, every sound Dean made under him.  
  
They’re going to stay here for at least a month, Dad tells Sam as he and Dean are putting on their backpacks. Sam smiles, a real one, because he likes it when they stay somewhere long enough to make friends.  
  
And Sam does make friends. He starts hanging out with a boy from one of his classes, Charlie. Charlie’s brother Greg sneaks them beer and lets them sit on the roof and he looks a little like Dean. Sam wants to see how far is too far for him.  
  
Charlie and his brother get drunk with Sam one night. Charlie passes out and Sam can't stop laughing at how loud he snores; he laughs right up till the moment there's a mouth on his and Greg’s hands are sliding under his shirt. Sam drunkenly notes how cold they are, how soft, how unlike Dean’s. Sam pulls at the belt buckle in front of him, mostly just to see if Greg will stop him. He doesn't, and Sam has Greg’s pants open and almost off by the time he realizes he really, really doesn't want this. Something about the way Greg smells, like soap and cologne and not a hint of smokiness to be found; it’s just wrong. He doesn't offer an explanation, just stands up and walks out the door. Greg starts to follow but gets tangled in his half-removed pants and crashes to the floor.  
  
Sam walks home. It's past two in the morning and it's cold out; Sam can see his breath. The walk clears his head just enough that he manages not to trip or slam the door or bump into anything on his way in. He's silently congratulating himself when the light flicks on.  
  
"Are you drunk?"  
  
It's Dean. Sam sighs with relief, then quickly shushes Dean, shooting a glance at Dad's door.  
  
"Dad's not here. Are you drunk?"  
  
Sam snorts and collapses on the couch. It's not like Dean's never seen him drunk. Granted, up till now, Sam has only ever gotten drunk on beers Dean bought him, under Dean's supervision. Sam tilts his head back to peer over at Dean, still standing in the doorway staring at Sam.  
  
"Who're you getting drunk with?" Dean asks, and there's something in his voice, something like anger or hurt and Sam thinks that's not fair. Suddenly Sam is furious, wants to lash out.  
  
"Charlie's big brother," Sam answers, even though he was mostly hanging out with Charlie. "He's cool, he's kinda like you, except without all those rules." Sam injects as much emphasis into the word “rules” as possible, and Dean flinches like Sam hit him. Sam lets his head loll forward to face the dark TV and waits for Dean’s retort.  
  
He falls asleep waiting.  
  
***  
  
Sam wakes up with pain like rusty nails shoved behind his eyes and barely makes it to the bathroom before the beer and the tequila from last night are coming back up. He manages to brush his teeth, kneeling on the floor in front of the sink, before dragging himself out of the bathroom. Sam crawls halfway back to the couch and stays there, on the floor, cold and sweating, until he hears the front door open. He tries to sit up, thinking it must be Dad, but it's just Dean. Sam sinks back down to press his cheek against the rough hardwood.  
  
"C'mon, at least get off the floor," Dean says as he hauls Sam up. Sam groans and lets himself be manhandled back onto the couch. Dean drapes a blanket around him and goes to the kitchen. He comes back with a mug, which he fills with ginger ale, and wraps Sam's fingers around it.  
  
"Drink. I got you saltines too."  
  
Sam nods and drinks, suddenly parched. Dean takes the cup from him too soon and Sam whines a little.  
  
"Not too much or you'll just hurl again. You cold?" Dean asks, concern in his voice warming Sam. He nods, and Dean sits on the couch beside him and lets Sam crawl into his lap. Dean hasn't been this affectionate in months, hasn't let Sam touch him like this since… Sam stops that line of thinking and tucks his head under Dean's chin. Dean wraps his arms around Sam, pulling the blanket over both of them. They stay like that for a while, Sam slowly drifting back to sleep, Dean occasionally smoothing a hand down Sam's back. When Dean speaks, Sam's half asleep and it takes him a moment to understand.  
  
"Did he… Did you...?"  Dean’s voice trails off, like he can’t put words to what he’s asking. Sam feels a spark of the anger from last night.  
  
“Did I let him fuck me? Is that what you wanna know, Dean? What if I told you I did? Would you be mad?”  
  
Dean’s arms tighten around Sam almost painfully.  
  
“Yes.” It comes out as a growl, stirring something in Sam, fear and the desire he’s been pushing down for months now. He shifts a little in Dean’s grip, suddenly too aware of every square inch of Dean pressing against him.  
  
“I don’t think you get a right to be mad, Dean. It’s not about you,” Sam says, the lie heavy on his tongue. Dean snorts mirthlessly before answering.  
  
“I get to be mad because some twenty-five year old son of a bitch thinks he can he just fuck my fifteen year old little brother,” Dean says, and Sam can hear the way his voice is shaking slightly. It hits him like a blow to the chest, the realization that this is actually hurting Dean, that Dean is more than angry. Sam twists in Dean’s lap to look him square in the face.  
  
“If you don’t like it, you know what to do.”  
  
Dean stares at him, a dangerous glint in his eye.  
  
“You’re telling me that if I don’t fuck you, you’re gonna...” Dean’s fingers twitch against Sam’s back, like the very thought is enough to damage his control. Sam’s shaking his head before Dean can finish his sentence.  
  
“No.” Sam says. “I know you don’t want to. I don’t get it, but... No.”  
  
“Then what do you want from me, Sam? What am I supposed to do here?”  
  
Sam doesn’t answer, just leans in and kisses Dean. He can feel Dean tense and start to pull away, but he presses further, holding him there. It takes a few seconds for Dean to relax and return the kiss, but when he does, he’s suddenly biting at Sam’s lips, running his tongue over the inside of Sam’s mouth, roughly pulling and pushing at Sam’s shoulders until he’s straddling Dean. Dean’s fingers are digging into Sam’s shoulder blades, then his hips, and it’s starting to hurt, but Sam doesn’t want it to stop. He wants a physical reminder of this, even if Dean regrets it later, Sam wants to know that this happened, that Dean still wanted him, at least for a few minutes.  
  
It’s hitting Sam that he’s allowed to touch now, that the distance is gone, and he drops his lips to Dean’s neck, grazing the skin over Dean’s pulse with his teeth as he runs his hands down Dean’s chest. Dean’s gripping him like a vice and Sam can feel how hard he is, the length of Dean’s cock against the inside of Sam’s thigh. Sam moves against him, a gentle roll of his hips, and Dean shudders.  
  
Sam slips a hand down Dean’s chest and runs his fingers over Dean’s cock, dragging his fingernails over the rough denim. Dean’s practically shaking, Sam can hear him panting, his hips pushing up against Sam’s hand. Sam reaches for Dean’s zipper and pauses to look up at Dean’s face. He looks uncomfortable, maybe even afraid, Sam thinks, and that’s a new one.  
  
“Hey. Dean, hey, look at me. Is this okay?” Sam asks, immediately regretting his words, praying Dean won’t say no.  
  
Dean nods and Sam huffs out a sigh of relief before thumbing open the button, unzipping Dean’s pants, and tugging at the material. Dean gives an awkward little laugh and lifts his hips, letting Sam pull his jeans off. Sam pulls Dean’s boxers off with them and eagerly slides off the couch to kneel between Dean’s splayed legs. He hears Dean take in a stuttering breath and looks up to find him staring down at Sam, eyes slitted and dark, lower lip caught in his teeth. Sam just grins and runs his hands up Dean’s thighs. He’s wanted to do this for so long, but he can tell from the set of Dean’s shoulders that he’s anxious.  
  
Sam shifts forward to wrap a hand around Dean’s cock, his eyes fixed on Dean’s face, and he strokes up the shaft once before swiping his thumb over the head, gather the precome beading there. Dean’s hips shift at Sam’s touch, and his eyes slide closed for a second before snapping open when Sam’s tongue slides along his skin, running up the shaft and around the head.  
  
Sam has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s seen and felt Dean do this, and right now all he wants is to make Dean feel good. Sam licks up Dean’s cock once more before closing his lips around the head and Dean groans, his hands coming to run through Sam’s hair. Sam slides his mouth down on Dean’s cock, trying to suck and press his tongue up against the hard flesh like he’s felt Dean do. He never thought a cock would feel so heavy in his mouth, but it does. It’s big, too, bigger than Sam expected, and soon he’s coughing and gagging and pulling up to breathe. When he tries to take it in again, Dean stops him.  
  
“Sam, Sammy, no, wait, are you sure?” Dean’s face is full of concern but his voice has that ragged quality Sam recognizes from every “lesson” he’s had, so he gives Dean his best puppy eyes.  
  
“Please, Dean? Please let me... Please, I want to, please...”  
  
Dean’s nodding before Sam’s done begging, and Sam licks his lips, presses them against the head of Dean’s cock and down, opening around Dean, taking as much as he can. Dean takes Sam’s hand and wraps it around the remaining length, shows him how to stroke in time with his bobbing head, spit-slick fist matching the movement of his mouth. Dean’s moaning, his hips making infinitesimal thrusts like he’s holding back, and Sam’s achingly hard with the knowledge that he’s doing this, that he’s the one making Dean feel this. Sam drops his free hand to grind his palm against his cock through his pants, a surge of pleasure rushing through him, and he moans around Dean’s cock. Dean lets out a soft cry, almost like he’s in pain, and pushes at Sam’s shoulder. Sam ignores him, hollowing his cheeks and rubbing himself roughly, and when the first splashes of come land on his tongue and the back of his throat, he swallows them down. His own orgasm hits moments later, as he rests his forehead against Dean’s hip, cock pulsing in his pants.  
  
Dean’s still shaking when Sam pulls himself up to sit on the couch, and it takes Sam a couple of seconds to realize it’s not in a good way. Dean’s eyes are wide and his breath is coming fast.  
  
“Dean. Dean. Hey, it’s okay. Look at me. Its okay.”  
  
Dean turns to look at Sam, and the degree of anger in his eyes kicks Sam’s heartbeat into overdrive. He leans back an inch, only half consciously, and Dean tracks the movement.  
  
“No. No, Sam, it’s not okay. That kind of shit... that’s why we can’t do this. You can’t be doing these things, you’re fifteen, I can’t be the one making you- -”  
  
“You’re not making me do anything.” Sam interjects, cutting off Dean’s tirade. Sam’s never seen Dean’s careful control slip like this, and the need to reassure him is pushing Sam to say things he wouldn’t otherwise.  
  
“I want this. I want you. Whatever you can give me, okay?” Sam fixes his gaze on Dean’s eyes, willing him to calm down. It seems to work, Dean’s shoulders slumping as he sighs.  
  
“Hey, was it such a bad blowjob?” Sam jokes. Dean snorts weakly and levels what might be a glare at Sam before becoming serious again.  
  
“I can’t... Don’t make make fun of me for the chick flick shit, but I don’t want to take advantage of you, Sam.” Dean looks so earnest that Sam can’t even laugh at him.  
  
“Dude, I’m not an infant, okay? You’re not gonna fuck me up, you’re not gonna take advantage of anything I don’t want you to.” Sam says it like a promise, and sees Dean start to believe him.  
  
“So we... We’re just gonna... do this?” Dean says, like he’s afraid of the words, like he’s afraid he can’t take them back.  
  
Sam blinks a few times, running over what Dean just said in his head.  
  
“You’re saying yes? You’re saying we can keep doing this? Together?” Sam tries to keep the desperate hope out of his voice.  
  
“Same rules as before. I say stop, you say stop, we stop. Just... maybe I won’t say stop as much,” Dean says, the corner of his mouth twitching.  
  
Sam practically knocks him off the couch as he launches himself onto Dean’s lap, lips pressed to Dean’s, arms wrapped around Dean’s neck. Dean laughs into Sam’s mouth, slides his own arms around Sam’s back, and holds him still.  
  
***  
  
Sam and Dean barely leave the house at all over the course of the weekend. In fact, they only stray from Dean’s bed when strictly necessary. Sam needs the reassuring warmth of Dean’s skin against his, and Dean seems to feel there’s a lot of time to be made up for.  
  
The End


End file.
